The Greatest Gift
by Zanthe13
Summary: HarryDraco AU. Draco's deadend office job and Harrys ability to be a hawt lil' art guy. Oneshot. Original writing twisted to be put up here for your enjoyment. very mild for me...


The Greatest Gift

Draco sighed. He'd been working long into the night, and the tempestuous weather was irritating his already grating nerves. Rain lashed across the clear office block windows, clouding it. He sighed again, and gently placed the last report he was working on into the filing cabinet- it was incomplete.

Pansy- an oft enraged assistant and a diligent Christian when it suited her - would ask in the morning, or rather, harshly demand for it and report him when the imperfection within the document was discovered, exaggerating the failing and encouraging the demise of his already-soiled reputation. But it was already very late evening, and the sky was dusted with glinting stars, though you had to strive to see them through the smoggy light pollution of the city. Oh, how far he had fallen. To gaze listlessly out of an office block window, married to the job and be unable to rip himself from the binds of the work-desk. His paperwork loomed menacingly, and the disgruntled, disembodied voice of Pansy drifted through his head, insults and insinuations ringing clear.

Draco pondered sleeping in the office again. Harry had been upset last time, but all the work really needed to be done… and maybe, he could make it up to him? Had Harry not displayed interest in the bird sanctuary a week ago?

Yes, Draco nodded to himself, he would sleep in the office. Again. An aching back and worried partner would all be cured with a coffee and some romanticism. He laughed a little at the thought, and his expression turned sour. Reminiscing about the brief time where he was accepted by his work colleagues was never a great thing to do, especially now. Alone, in a hostile environment, and thinking of only his lover and workload. What a sap he had turned into. The embittered expression cleared when he observed his desk, where sat The Photo.

It had been his undoing, and he loved and hated The Photo, which exposed him to the world and at the same time filled him with warmth. Just looking at It was an internal battle. Pansy had been the one to uncover his wrong-ness. His evil. His Sin.

Draco drifted in an old world, which was not real, and yet strangely not false either. It was like dreaming, but he could not control it. His life drifted in and out of view, like nightmares and sweet dreams wrapped over each other.

There was Harry, sat like an impudent child, tongue out and his long, tangled black hair tied back as it usually was when he was working with paint. The soft curves of his face contrasted with his high cheekbones. To Draco, there was nothing in the world that captured him as he was in his element. Harry was _made_ to smile. The Photo had been scratched, much to Draco anger. Pansy had cornered him, touched him… it was disgraceful, but she had gotten away. The twisted one was _not_ Draco. In his struggle, he had unwittingly unveiled the private cupboard where he had (_foolishly! So foolishly!_) kept his treasure.

It had deteriorated from there. Previous friends had turned their backs on him- hell, his own mother had spat in his face for his wickedness, his perversion, and she was dying then. She had passed on with the hate and knowledge that she had birthed an individual that was tempted, and the man she raised as a good Christian was no longer her son.

Lost in memories and introspection, Draco had not heard the door creak slowly open, and was startled when a hand landed heavily upon his weary shoulders. He tensed, expecting it to be a scare tactic so often used by the men in the offices all around to his own. Silently cursing himself for his distracted state and the possible repercussions of the act, he spun to face the aggressor, this intruder into his small office.

The beautiful face of Harry gazed evenly back at him, using the shoulder he still held to perch on tip-toe, and gently placed his lips against Draco's slightly chapped ones. His lips were soft, and his hair was damp from the rain, which had slowed and calmed as Draco was contemplating. Looking down into the face of his life-partner, Draco felt a majority of his worries ease. Not all- never all, he was too tired and guilt-ridden to ever feel completely tranquil, but with Harry, he felt a taste of that peace.

The soft voice of Harry had risen from that mouth, still dangerously close to his, enticing him from the office, pulling him from the workplace, tempting him with a lithe form and peaceful promises.

Yes, Draco decided, the greatest gift of all was Harrys ability to get his way. And sometimes, he supposed, the spontaneous artist was damn right too.

Word count: 800.

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ok, I wrote that one for a competition, except the three characters were called "Julian", "Will" and the bitch "Marie" but I changed it so it could go up here. nothing but the names have changed, so... if you like it better as an original piece, feel free to mentally call Draco "Julian" and Harry "Will".

reviews much 'preciated. but I'm not gunna beg like every other fanficist out there.

nice day t'ya all...

Zan

x


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